


We'll Be The Stars.

by Nicolasgrimshaw



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Art, Artist Harry, Dead Louis, Depressed Harry, Fiction, Fluff, Love, M/M, Magical paint brush, Painting, Syfy, True Love, grieving harry, whoo hoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:46:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicolasgrimshaw/pseuds/Nicolasgrimshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When cleaning out his grandmothers art supplies, Harry finds a magical paintbrush that brings to life anything he paints.<br/>So he decides to paint his dead fiancé, Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Be The Stars.

It happened when Harry was cleaning out his grandmothers art supplies in the basement. It was eerie going through his dead grandmothers stuff, but it couldn't of been worse then when he had to clean out his dead fiancés belongings. 

He and Louis had already set the date, invitations had been sent out, the cake had been ordered, flowers were arranged, the venue was set. . .but then that was all flipped around when Louis was on his way to get his haircut and a truck barreled though a red light, blindsiding him. 

He was rushed to the ER, Harry almost fainted when he got the call, and almost got into an accident himself on his way to the hospital. 

The emergency surgery supplied little to no help at all as Louis was pronounced dead thirty minutes after arriving to the hospital. 

Harrys whole world crashed down around him as wedding preparations soon turned to funeral preparations. His closest was half empty. His bed was only half made. His heart was only half full. 

He doesn't think he'll ever stop grieving Louis's death and his family and friends have repeatedly suggested seeing a therapist about it, but to no avail. 

He and Louis were supposed to have a life together. He was an art teacher and Louis was still in school for his masters to be a meteorologist. Louis always loved the weather and Harry always loved art. Louis was his muse, he pained him quite frequently. Even to this day, six months after his passing. 

Shortly after Louis's passing, his grandmother passed away. His grandmother was the whole reason he had gotten into art. She'd always show Harry different painting techniques, give him paints, paper, and share her books with him. They were close. 

So her passing hit him hard and came way to suddenly, but it was her passing that started this. 

It was then, when Harry was cleaning out her countless stacks of blank canvas's and paper, not to mention loads of paint tubes and brushes, that he found a little wooden box with the words To Harry engraved in it. And when he opened it he found a paintbrush, a delicate one made of veneered wood and soft round bristles. He wasn't sure what it was for. A birthday gift? A wedding gift to him? Just something out of the blue? But he took it and he shouldn't have. 

-

Harry walked into their flat (yes it was still theirs) and placed his things on the foyer table. He kicked off his shoes and walked into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. The air in his grandmothers basement was so dusty and dry it practically suffocated him. 

He walked back over to the foyer with a glass in his hand and picked up the wooden box with the paintbrush. He looked at it carefully, inspecting it almost. Once deemed safe, he walked through the flat and into the spare bedroom he and Louis had decided was okay to make an art studio out of. 

It was a mess. A large counter lined one entire wall almost and was covered in specks of paint. On top of it was a mess of brushes, and paints, and papers, pencils, pens, colored pencils, canvases, drawing pads, blending stumps, sandpaper, everything. There was one window on the opposite window that filtered in pale sunlight. 

Harry thought about how beautiful Louis always looked bathed in sunlight. 

He placed his glass down next to the little box with the paint brush and walked over to his easel set up in the adjacent corner. He stumbled slightly on the little tarp set up under it so he didn't stain the wooden floors. He picked up a canvas off the floor and placed it on the easel. Being August 3rd, school wasn't in session, he had nothing to do. And with no one to spend his time with he spent his time painting and creating art. 

He liked to paint flowers, in fact, that's what he was working on, practicing realism with flowers. He walked back to the counter and picked up the wooden box, opening it. The veneer shimmered in the light and he picked out the paint brush, looking at it. 

Pushing the box aside, he picked up his glass of water and moved back over to the easel. He placed it down, along with the paintbrush, and moved back over to the counter, picking up his paint and pallet. He filled his pallet with the brightest of reds, pinks, and greens before moving back in front of the canvas. 

Pausing for a moment, he picked up his paintbrush and dipped it in the water glass. Then he got started. Once he started painting, he really started painting. Louis would always tease him about "getting in the zone", saying it'd lead to deadly disasters if anyone ever disturbed him while he was in his zone. 

He liked to paint roses because roses were the flowers Louis loved. They were their wedding flowers.

The brush moved so smoothly across the canvas. Almost perfectly. It was the best brush he had ever used and he's used at least over 300 brushes. 

He painted bushels of roses, some blooming, others just little buds, and some with wilting petals. He dipped his brush in the red and continued painting a rose when there was a knock on his door. He just ignored it, continuing to paint swiftly, but whoever it was knocked again. It was probably just his mother or sister coming by to check on him and urge him to go out and do something for once instead of cooping himself up in his flat.

"One minute!" He yelled when they knocked knocked again. He rolled his eyes, placed his pallet down, then dropped his brush in the water glass. 

He wiped his hands on a cloth and walked out to the door. He opened the door to see his neighbor, Caroline. She was a young girl, just around his age of 25, and was studying to become a pediatrician. They were friends, to say the least. She and Louis were more closer though which was probably a reason he was apprehensive to ever go out with her. Just like his mother and sister, Caroline often encouraged Harry to go out. 

"Can I help you?" He asked rather harshly.

"Some of your mail was in my mailbox, I thought I'd just drop it by." She explained holding out the envelops to him. Harry looked down at them before reaching out to grab. 

"Oh, thank you." Caroline smiled sweetly and nodded. 

"How are you doing?" 

"I'm doing alright." He answered with a thin, impatient smile. 

"You know, some of my friends and I were going to go out tonight and I was wondering if you wanted to come with." She twirled the end of a strand of hair around her finger nervously and Harry pursed his lips together. 

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't really feel like going out. Thank you though." He kindly declined and she let go of her hair, nodding. 

"Yeah, I understand, but I mean, I really think you should, you know, get out and about. Staying in your flat all day isn't healthy." She insisted.

"Yeah, well, once school starts up again I won't be in my flat all day." He said with a thin smile and Caroline crossed her arms, giving him a patronizing look. 

"I'm serious, Harry." Harry rolled his eyes. "I know you're probably still a little upset over Louis, but it's been six months." He scoffed.

"A little upset," He laughed. 

"Harry, you're not the only one to lose someone you love. People lose daughters, sons, fathers, mothers, wives, husbands, anyone all the time!" She exclaimed. 

"I fucking know that and everyone copes at different rates, some longer than others." He snapped angrily. "I know it seems like I should probably be over it by now since apparently that's what everyone thinks, but I just. . .I don't even know." 

"If you won't go out you should at least talk to someone about this." Caroline urged. She crossed her arms across her chest and bit down on her bottom lip. 

"Well I'm talking to you, aren't I?" Harry asked sarcastically and Caroline have him another condescending look with her brow arched high. 

"Okay, Harry, seriously, I'm just trying to help you." She said irritably. 

"A lot of people are trying to help me, don't take it personally." Harry mumbled softly and pressed up against the doorframe. 

"C'mon Harry, please just come out with me tonight. If you regret it or are bored then you can leave and if you have a great time I'll tell you I told you so." She teased with an uplifting smile and Harry just stared down a her unamused. 

"Maybe another time, now is just not the right time." He stepped back into the flat. 

"Harry-"

"Thanks for the mail, have a good day." He hastily closed the door in her face. He locked it then took a deep breath, feeling unusually exerted, and tossed his mail on the foyer table. He rolled his eyes and pivoted around. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and walked back into the art room before freezing mid step. 

Lying on the floor under his easel were pink and red roses. Sitting on his easel was his canvas, and where his roses were once painted was just a white silhouette now against the turquoise background, as if he hadn't ever painted them to begin with. 

He walked over cautiously and bent down, picking up the flowers. Some had yet to bloom, some had bloomed brightly, and others were wilting. With the flowers in one hand, he scratched his head with the other and looked back at the canvas absolutely baffled. 

He was painting roses on his canvas, left for a couple of minutes, then came back to find roses just like the ones he was painting lying on the floor, and his canvas was now only blue with white flower silhouettes. 

Still discombobulated, he placed the flowers on the counter and moved back to his canvas. With his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and lip pulled between his bottom teeth, he picked up the canvas and smoother his hand over it. He glanced back at the flowers and shook his head. 

He placed his canvas on his stack and picked up a fresh one, setting it on the easel. He picked up some paints from the counter and dabbed some more colors on his pallet. 

Picking up his pallet and brush, he glanced back at the roses before turning back to the canvas. 

There's no way the roses could've. . .came to life, could they? It was an inanimate picture he painted from paint, there's no way. No, no, no way. 

Of course Harry didn't believe the roses just. . .came to life. But there wasn't any other plausible explanation. Of course, roses coming to life wasn't exactly plausible as well, but still!

Licking his lips, Harry dabbed his brush in the paint and started painting a flower again. He painted a simple daisy with a monarch butterfly sitting daintily on one of the petals. He placed his brush in the water, pallet down, and wiped his hands, wiping his forehead. 

He stepped back and stared at the canvas for a few minutes, watching it like he expected the butterfly to come to life and see the flower fall to the floor. He backtracked slowly, keeping his eyes on the canvas. He walked back out down the hallway and headed for the kitchen, getting another glass of water to actually drink out of and not taint with paint. 

Seeing that it was 5:45 he decided he better make something to eat. He preheated his oven the took a little pan of Stoffers Mac and Cheese out of the freezer. He hardly ever actually cooked anything anymore. He mostly just heated up frozen meals or ate take aways. He took it out of the box, poked a couple holes in the clear plastic with the tip of a knife, and threw it in the oven, not even waiting for it preheat. 

He turned back to the kitchen counter, with the intentions of picking up his water glass to take a sip, but froze seeing a flutter of orange out of the corner of his eye. And he almost fainted as he watched a little monarch butterfly flutter through his kitchen and land on the edge of his glass. 

His heart jumped to his throat and he broke out into a sweat. Why? He didn't know what the hell was going on. He ran back through the hallway and into his art room before pausing. 

Lying on the floor was a single daisy and his canvas was completely untouched by paint. 

"What the fuck," He whispered to himself and walked over to it. He picked up the flower then looked at the canvas. "Bloody hell," He mumbled. The canvas was totally pure, untarnished by paint. 

This was getting weird now. He tossed the flower over by the roses and crossed his arms, thinking. He reached out, picked up the brush, and looked at it carefully. Now it might seem strange thinking the brush could be the cause of this, but it wasn't totally out there. 

There also wasn't an explanation, but how the hell do flowers and a butterfly just. . .come to life? Did the butterfly just fly off the canvas? The flowers just fall off to the floor? 

The only logical thing to do was to do an experiment. Swiftly, he propped two canvases against the wall an knelt down with his pallet, and two brushes. He even thought he might be going insane, but what's the worst that could happen? He finds more flowers on his floor? 

On one canvas he painted a bouquet of flowers with the brush he found addressed to him at his grandmothers and the same bouquet on the other canvas with an old brush he always used. Then when his smoke detector started going off he remember his Mac and Cheese and ran back into the kitchen. After throwing his burnt dinner in the trash and airing out the smoke, he hurried back to his art room eagerly.

He wasn't sure if he was hoping to find more flowers on his floor, or not. But much to his dismay, he walked into his room to see both canvases still leaning against the wall with the painted bouquets on them. 

He sighed, a little disheartened, and walked into the room. He pushed the canvases aside and moved over to his stack of black, finished, and unfinished canvases. He knelt down and started looking through them. Picking up his canvas of an unfinished deer portrait, he placed his on his easel and stared at it with a heavy heart. 

Louis had a tattoo just like it. A powerful stag representing bravery and power. He rubbed his eyes and bent down, picking up his pallet and brushes from the floor. He completely forgot about the whole roses and butterfly oddity while painting the stag. All he was thinking about was Louis and how happy he was when he first got the tattoo. It was his first tattoo, he couldn't of been any more elated than he was when he got it. 

Painting into the wee hours of the night with teary eyes and a grumbling stomach, around midnight, he dropped his paint brush in his water cup and dragged himself into his bedroom, falling onto the bed even with his paint stained shirt. 

Painting, and art in general, was more than a passion for him. Ever since Louis' death it was a distraction for him. When he was painting he wasn't thinking. He wasn't aware of his surroundings. When he painted he went into his own little world where Louis was still alive, they were happily married, and the world was perfect. 

But the world wasn't perfect, he and Louis weren't married, and Louis wasn't alive. And it wasn't healthy for him to stay inside his stuffy flat painting all the time. Painting eased his pain, but when he wasn't painting his pain only grew. He needed a therapist, he knew that, but right now art was his therapist and it kept him stable and content. 

It is what it is.

-

Now if Harry needed any sign that the paintbrush in a little wooden box engraved with his name was somehow bringing whatever he painted to life, it was that morning.

At 10 o'clock he woke up and stumbled into his art room. He rubbed his eyes and blinked away the blurriness before looking at the floor where a bouquet of flowers was lying. 

He rushed over to the bouquet and picked it up along with the blank canvas. Completely untouched by paint yet again. He set them aside and picked up his other canvas he had painted the same bouquet one, but with a different brush. The painting was still there. No bouquet of flowers lying next to a blank one. Just a regular old painting. 

He dropped the canvas and jumped to his feet. He peered at his easel where his painting of the stag was placed last night. The tan background was in tact except for a white silhouette of a stag. Fuck. 

Harry turned and moved to the doorway. He looked down the hallway and didn't see anything. He couldn't hear anything also. He walked down the hallway and peered into the kitchen and living room area where a large deer with very menacing looking antlers was in fact standing. 

His eyes widened in a mixture of shock and fear. There wasn't seriously a fucking deer in his living room right? He quietly went back to his room without startling it. He locked his door and picked his phone up off his nightstand, dialing Gemmas number. 

"Harry?" She answered on the second ring sounding urgent, as if the only reason Harry would be calling her is if something drastic happened 

"There's a deer in the middle of my living room." Gemma was quiet. 

"What?" 

"There's a fucking deer with these horrifyingly sharp antlers in my living room." He repeated sternly. 

"How the hell did a deer get into your flat? You live on the third floor!" She exclaimed. "Were you drinking last night?" 

"Yes, Gemma, I got a little intoxicated last night and decided to bring a fucking deer into my flat." He retorted sarcastically. "No! I. . .I don't know how it got there, I just woke up and saw it." 

"Well good luck getting it out." Gemma teased laughing and Harry grit his teeth. 

"Uh, could you maybe help me a little? What the hell am I supposed to do? Call the cops? The animal shelter?" He asked questionably.

"I don't know, try the cops or something, they'll tell you what to do." Gemma said. "Seriously, a deer?" She asked in disbelief. 

"Gee, I don't know, maybe it was a unicorn." Harry shot back sarcastically. 

"I meant, like, in your flat. Honestly, how the hell does a deer end up in a three story flat?" 

"I don't fucking know." Harry said shaking his head. "Whatever, I'm just going to call the cops and see what they suggest." He sighed lackadaisically. 

"Well, good luck and let me know how it goes." She said. "Man, I can't wait to see the look on mums face when I tell her this." She laughed. 

"Fuck off." 

"Hey, you called me." Gemma defended. 

"And now I'm hanging up on you." Harry hung up hastily and bit the inside of his cheek. He cracked open the door and peeked out before gasping when he saw the stag standing in the hallway, fifteen feet away from his door. 

So after an hour and a half of convincing the responder at the police station that a mysterious deer ended up in his flat, two specialist were sent over with tranquilizer darts who were then let into his flat by the building manager, since he was too terrified to go out and get the door himself, who then shot the deer and were able to remove it safely. Then after questioning, mainly regarding any drinking or drug addictions, he was finally at peace again. 

He texted Gemma that they got the deer and she just responded with a laughing emoji. He took a deep breath and went to his art room. He picked up his paintbrush and inspected it closely. 

It looked like an ordinary paintbrush, but it sure as hell wasn't acting like one. He brought it over to the counter and placed it down so he could pick up the wooden box he had found it in. Was there anything else written on it? Was there a note in it? Why couldn't his grandmother still be alive so he could ask her about it? 

But it had become quite obvious what power the brush gave the artist. Whatever he painted with it came to life. Came to life. To life. Life. 

He dropped the box and turned around, glancing around the room. So if a butterfly and a deer could come to life through a painting that would mean people could come to life. 

A small smile spread across his lips. He picked up a pencil and went to wall adjacent to the door. It was going to be a long night so he better get started now. 

He was going to paint Louis. His Louis. Louis who was taken too young and too quickly. A canvas just seemed to small, so with adrenaline coursing through his blood, he pressed his pencil against the beige wall and started sketching. 

And he sketched and sketched without paying any attention to the clock or his growling stomach. Then he painted and painted with growing excitement at the idea of waking up and finding Louis in his flat. And he drew and painted all day practically. 

Then, at 6:18, he sat back proud and looked up at his full body painting of Louis. 

God, he missed him so much. This better work.

At 6:20 he fell asleep on the floor, right on top of his pallet, and with a smile on his face.

-

At 8 o'clock, Harry awoke slowly, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His vision sharpened and he saw two feet standing in front of him.

"Louis?" He jumped up then sunk back on his hands seeing it was just Gemma. He turned over and glanced at the wall where his painting of Louis still stood. 

"Harry, what the hell is this?" She asked rather harshly and walked over to the wall, gesturing to the painting. Harry stood up, slightly dizzy at first, and rubbed his eyes again.

"How did you get in here?" He asked.

"Well I was knocking but you weren't answering and I knew you were home, so I tried the door and it was open." 

"That doesn't mean you can just walk in here," He fired back indignantly. 

"Harry, I was worried something happened to you, I wanted to make sure you were okay." She crossed her arms and looked at him sternly. 

"And what do you think happened to me?" He asked cracking his knuckles. 

"I don't know, you got attacked by another deer or. . .anything, I just wanted to be sure." She uncrossed her arms and Harry rubbed the back of his sore neck. "How long did it take you to paint this? Why were you sleeping in here?"

"I just painted it last night." Harry said softly with a shrug.

"Why?" She asked rather harshly.

"Because I wanted to?" 

"Harry, this isn't healthy." It a lot less healthier than you think, Harry thought.

"Look, I think I'd have a say in whats healthy and what's not for myself." He squinted at the painting. The flowers, butterfly, and deer had come to life, why not this time? Maybe it didn't work with people. Or, maybe it was because he painted it on the wall this time and not a canvas. He bit his cheek. 

"Harry, I'm serious." Gemma said softly. "You really need to stop grieving and actually start moving on." 

"I know that, okay? You tell me that everyday, it's practically drilled into my brain."

"Then why are you still wallowing in all this? It's been six months, Harry. It's time to let him go." 

"Some things are easier said than done." Harry said raising his voice.

"And something's get easier once they're done."  
Gemma rose her tone to match Harrys. 

"You weren't the one set to marry him! You weren't the one who had a future all planned out with him! I was the one! I loved him!" Harry exclaimed in a burst of anger. 

"I loved him too!" Gemma shouted back.

"But my love meant something!" Harry stomped his foot. 

"Well what about his mother? His sisters? Their love meant something as well, but they've gotten over it."

"Well then whoop dee fucking doo for them, let's give them a gold star, yeah? Isn't in Jay in therapy? We better give her a silver star since she still hasn't gotten over it completely yet." Harry shot back sarcastically and Gemma crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. 

"She was his mother."

"I was his fiancé." Harry responded softly. "You have no idea what it feels like to have this life built up in your head then have it run over by a semi." 

"Look, Harry, people lose loved ones all the time-"

"I know." 

"And they cope with it and they move on, and those who don't cope as well get help and see someone to help them cope through the grieving process and moving on." She explained calmly. 

"Look, I'm doing perfectly fine as it is-"

"You are not fine." Gemma interrupted. "You sit in your flat all day painting, you hardly ever go out anymore, or visit Mum or I, you don't even call or text us anymore. You're isolating yourself in here and it's not healthy. And painting full size pictures of him is not helping you at all. When is the last time you took a shower?" She asked and Harry reached up, running his hands through his greasy hair. 

"Why are you even here?" He asked crossing his arms tightly. 

"Because I'm taking you out." She said with a small smile. 

"No." He shook his head. Gemma frowned. 

"Yes, Harry."

"No, I can't go out." 

"And why not?" She asked patronizingly. Harry paused. 

"Because I have a lot of cleaning up to do." He said stiffly. 

"Come on, Haz, I just want to get a cup of coffee with you then you can go back home and sulk at your painting of Louis." 

"Well gee, when you put it like that why don't I just grab my shoes and we leave right now?" He retorted. 

"You know what I meant," 

"No, I didn't actually, and I really don't appreciate you making snide remarks about something that's obviously close to my heart." 

"Harry, come one, I was just teasing. I'm sorry if I offended you." She apologized sincerely and Harry just rolled his eyes. 

"Whatever." He mumbled turning his head down. 

"So will you please just come and get some coffee with me?" She asked sweetly. 

"I really don't feel like going out. Its too early for me, I'm tired, I need to shower. . .," He listed off counting on his fingers. 

"Come on, we'll just get a short cup, then you can come back here and shower and sleep." She teased. Harry inhaled deeply, contemplating. 

"Later today?" 

"Seriously?" She asked in disbelief. 

"Yeah, would, like, later this afternoon be okay instead of right now?" 

"Yeah, maybe around three o'clock or something?" She asked a little skeptically and Harry nodded. 

"I'd like that better." 

"Okay then," Gemma was a little surprised. She expected Harry to just deny the offer, not suggest a different time. "I'll be back here at three then." She said moving from the wall to the doorway. 

"Okay." Harry nodded and she smiled. "Please close the front door on your way out." He added making her laugh. 

"Wouldn't want another deer to get in." She joked walking through the hallway to the front door, which Harry followed her too. "I'm still not sure if I believe that or not." She added opening the door. 

"I'm serious!" Harry exclaimed and Gemma laughed, opening the door. "You can ask the guy who shot it with a tranquilizer, and the guy who questioned me about it." 

"Well I'll be looking for it in the paper the next few days." She teased. She stepped out of the flat and smiled at him. He smiled back and she took another step back. "So you later then," 

"Adios," She nodded and turned to walk down the stairs. Harry closed the door and took a deep breath. He locked the door and walked back to his art room. He stared at his painting of Louis on the wall and sighed hopelessly. 

He stepped out and closed the door before moving back into his room to grab some clean clothes then went to take a shower. 

After taking a shower, he checked his art room as if expecting to see Louis standing in there and a see a white silhouette on the wall, but to no avail. 

He grabbed his wallet, keys, and ran to the store to pick up a few groceries since he hadn't bought any in two weeks. When he got home he put the groceries in their correct places and ate a small snack since he hadn't eaten in over 14 hours. 

Once he finished that, he got a cup of water, chugged a good half of it, then placed it on the counter. He moved down the hallway, opened the door to his art room, and froze. 

Standing in the middle of the room in front of the easel was. . .someone. 

Harry closed the door with wide eyes and shaky hands. He stepped back. His heart started beating rapidly and he broke out into a cold sweat. He heard footsteps walk up to the door and he paced back a few times slowly. The knob twisted and Harry had to remind himself to breath. He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. 

The door opened and Louis stepped forward in the doorway. Fucking Louis. Harry stumbled back against the opposite wall. He looked just how Harry had painted him, it was like he had never died. He was wearing his black skinny jeans, red tee shirt that really showed off his collar bones, and jean jacket he would wear all the time. 

"Don't worry, I didn't touch anything. I know how strict you are about people touching your art." He smiled sweetly. Harry just stood there rendered speechless, stunned with silence. "Harry, are you okay?" He asked thoughtfully and Harry could not complete one coherent thought. 

He took a step forward and reached out, touching Louis' cheek softly before jerking his hand back. His skin was warm and soft. It baffled him. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" Louis asked and Harry took a deep breath. Louis would always ask him that. It was practically his trademark.

"How are you. . .but you. . .you, like," He stammered in disbelief. 

"I what?" Louis asked in a bit of amusement. Harry stepped forward and touched his cheek again. 

"You died." He whispered tearfully and bit down on his bottom lip. Louis was standing in front of him. Louis! His dead fiancé who had passed away in a car accident. He. . .he. . .was there somehow.

"I've always been alive in your heart." Louis smiled brightly up at Harry. His eyes too looked a little glossy with tears. Harrys tears rolled his cheeks and his throat was almost too tight to speak. He moved his hand around his neck and pulled him closer slowly before they were hugging. 

Harry wrapped his arms around his neck tightly and buried his face in his neck. Louis was so warm, like he had never passed away. But how was Louis there right now? He was buried in the cemetery down town. . .

Harry didn't even care. Louis was there. He was warm. He could touch him. He didn't care to wonder how this happened. He just wanted to embrace it. 

"Oh my goodness, I miss you so much." He cried softly and Louis rubbed his back gently.  
He could not believe such a thing was happening. Was he just dreaming? 

He squeezed Louis tightly, like if he didn't hold him tight enough he'd disappear. Louis continued to rub his back gently. It was so soothing and all Harry really needed was some soothing. 

He moved his face away from Louis' neck and looked down at him. Louis smiled and Harry tried to smile, but his lips just quivered before frowning. 

He leaned in and kissed his lips softly. They were so soft, just like he remembered and often missed. He pressed one hand against his cheek and kissed him passionately, heatedly, lasciviously almost, like how he wished he could of kissed him for the last six months he's been gone. 

He pressed him against the wall beside the door and continued kissing him sweetly and lovingly. His hands were around his waist now and Louis was actually reciprocating the kiss! It was just like how everything was before the horrid day!

God he missed him so much. 

"Harry, sweets, it's barely even the afternoon." Louis laughed pulling away and Harry turned his head down onto Louis' shoulder. Sweets was Harrys nickname and hearing his voice say that one word again made his heart burst into a million pieces then join again. "Honey," He said softly and a Harry lifted his head up, looking down at him. 

His eyes were red and tears stained his cheeks. Louis reached up and wiped under Harrys eyes, drying his tears gently. 

"Am I dreaming?" Harry asked managing to find his voice and Louis laughed again, making him smile. Oh, how he missed hearing his beautiful laugh. 

"No, honey," 

"Am I hallucinating?" He asked and Louis shook his head. Harry swallowed thickly and stood back, wiping his eyes again. "Oh my goodness, I can't believe this is happening." He murmured. 

"Can't believe what's happening?" Louis asked and Harry peered down at him. He pursed his lips together then shook his head.  

"I can't believe you are standing right in front of me right now." He said reaching out to touch his cheek again softly. "I just. . .," He trailed off as Louis reached up and placed his hand overtop Harrys gently. 

"So, what's going on today?" Harry pulled his hand away from Louis' cheek and held his breath. 

"Uh, um, nothing." He said. "I mean, we don't have to do anything," It's not that they did or didn't, but that they couldn't. Harry couldn't possibly let Louis leave his flat. He was dead for Christ's sake! 

"Hm, movie day then?" He asked and it took Harry a moment to register what he was saying and what was even happening! He nodded slowly and Louis smiled. 

"You can set up the first movie if you'd like, I just have to check on something." He said gesturing to his art room. 

"Okay," Louis smiled brightly and turned as he walked down the hallway and out to the living room. Harry stumbled into his art room and closed the door quickly. He felt so lightheaded because he could not wrap his mind around what was happening. Louis was alive. Not alive, but alive. He touched him, kissed him, held him. . .

He quickly turned and looked at the wall where Louis' silhouette stood out against the beige wall. He took a deep breath and made a sign of the cross before mouthing a "thank you" and smiled. 

It was still hard to believe and comprehend, but he didn't care. All he cared about was that Louis was here again.

He stepped out of the room and walked back out to living room where Louis was standing up from the DVD player.

"I put in Aladdin, hope you don't mind." He said glancing at Harry with a smile before looking to pick up the remote. Aladdin was always one of Louis' favorites. His favorite character was the genie, he always got the biggest kick out of him.

"Of course not." Before the tragic car accident they probably watched it together around three times a week. That's how much he loved. He knew the dialogue word for word practically and he sang along with every song.

Louis started the movie and nestled down on the couch. Harry walked over and sat down stiffly a few inches away from him on the couch. Louis looked at him out of the corner of his eye in amusement and smiled a little.

"Is something wrong?" Harry looked at him before shaking his head. Louis scooted closer and snuggled up to him. Harry smiled, relaxing a bit, and wrapped his arm around him. "You sure you aren't getting tired of watching this?" He asked gazing up at him and Harry shook his head again.

"Of course not," He assured. "In fact, I've missed watching it." He added looking down at him. "With you." Louis chuckled lightly.

"Good, now stop talking, you're missing a very important part." He teased with a smile and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, that's just your way of shutting me up." Louis laughed again, turning his face into the side of Harrys chest to suppress his laughter. He sighed contently and they nestled together.

And they watched Aladdin contently. Then when it was over Harry put in one of his favorites, Bambi. Then, towards the end of it, there was a knock on the door that made his heart stop.

Gemma.

"Who is that?" Louis asked sitting back up and Harry stood up after pausing the movie.

"My sister."

"Oh, Gemmas here?" Louis asked perkily and made a move to stand up, but Harry placed his hand on his shoulder, pushing him down gently.

"Don't do or say anything, okay?" He instructed seriously. "Just sit here silently." Louis nodded meekly and Harry swallowed thickly before walking over to the door. He took a deep breath then reached for the door knob, opening the door to not only Gemma, but his mother also.

"Ready? Mums coming along too, she couldn't believe you actually agreed to going out for coffee." Gemma greeted smiling and Anne smiled cheerfully behind her. Harry grit his teeth.

"Yeah, well, I can't go out for coffee right now." Both of their faces dropped.

"Well too late for that. You already said you would go to coffee at three." Gemma argued sternly.

"Well we'll just reschedule for another day. Seriously, now is not the time."

"And why not?" Gemma asked raising her voice slightly.

"Because I said so-"

"Seriously, Harry, this isn't healthy." Anne spoke up.

"I said we could reschedule, goodness, you act like I'm a complete recluse." Harry scoffed.

"Well you're turning into one." Gemma retorted.

"No I'm not."

"When's the last time you went out?" She asked crossing her arms patronizingly.

"Uh, today. I went to the store." Harry stated matter of factly and Gemma and Anne both gave him a condescending look.

"I mean, like, actually out. With friends or just by yourself to get a drink-"

"Why would I go out by myself? That just sounds boring." Harry said crossing his arms. He usually liked to keep one hand on the doorknob in case his mother or sister decided to try and push theirselves into his flat so he'd have an easy way to quickly push them out.

"Maybe to try and meet new people? Maybe meet someone?" She emphasized and Harry grit his teeth.

"Goodbye." He reached for the doorknob and started to close the door, but Gemma stopped the door with her foot.

"You can't keep pushing us away like this, Harry." She said lowly. Harry swallowed thickly.

"I said we'd reschedule, that's a step forward isn't it?" Gemma brought her foot back and Harry closed the door in their faces. He turned the lock and took a deep breath. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck before walking back into the living room.

Louis was turned towards the back of the couch with his chin resting over the edge.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Harry took a deep breath and walked over, falling down on the couch. Louis turned to him, curling up against the couch cushion beside him.

"I don't even know what I'm thinking." He admitting closing his eyes. Louis reached out and placed his hand over top Harrys gently. "How are you here?" He asked looking at him and Louis just smiled mischievously, shrugging.

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, you died in a car accident six months ago, how are you sitting here right now?" He asked.

"You'll see." He said with a little smile.

"What do you mean I'll see?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Honey," Louis rose his hand to his cheek softly. "Just embrace it while it lasts."

"But how long will it last?" Harry asked raising his voice. His answers weren't even answering his questions, but raising even more questions.

"That's up to you." 

"If it's up to me then I want it to last forever." Harry said sitting forward. Louis laughed softly.

"C'mon, let's finish the movie." He leaned forward to reach for the remote from the coffee table.

"But Louis-"

"I already started it, no talking!" He hushed and Harry cracked a small smile. He curled back up to Harrys side and cuddled into him.

And so they finished watching movies. They watched movies until 7, then they even ate dinner together, it had even slipped Harrys mind that Louis had actually passed away, it was just like old times!

Around nine o'clock, they were standing in their bedroom turning down the sheets. Harry had changed into a pair of sweats and taken off his shirt and Louis removed his jacket and jeans, keeping his red shirt on.

Its not like he had any clothes to change into.

They both climbed in under the covers and it felt so weird to not lie in bed by himself for once. Harry rolled over slightly on his stomach and cupped Louis' cheek, leaning in to kiss him. Louis kissed him back sweetly and Harry pulled away, smiling down at him.

"You make me so happy." He whispered making Louis smile.

"I know, sweets." He reached up and pushed Harrys hair away from his beautiful face. He slid his hand down his cheek and grinned up at him. Harrys eyes watered with tears, some sad, some happy, and he laid down on top of Louis, burying his face in his neck and hugged him tightly. "You made me so happy too." He whispered.

They fell asleep hugging and the next day they spent lying in bed cuddling, just embracing the moment and moments, even though Harry was still a little confused.

Then the next day they were both sitting on the floor in Harrys art room. Harry had a canvas he was holding in front of him and his pallet was sitting beside his lap. He was painting with a different paint brush of course, wouldn't want two Louis's to pop up.

"Are you almost done?" Louis asked impatiently and Harry laughed.

"Well I'd be done sooner if you'd stop moving." He teased and Louis smiled, sighing. He sat in front of Harry with his legs crossed. Harry was painting him again. When was he not.

"I'm not even moving." He said moving around as he said so.

"Yes you are!" Harry exclaimed and Louis laughed.

"Okay, well I can't just stay still like a statue for however long." He said. "You just need to paint faster." He teased. Harry smiled, glancing at him from behind the canvas.

"True masterpieces take a lifetime to complete." Louis rolled his eyes.

"Well I've been sitting here for a lifetime." Louis joked. Harry just rose his eyebrows then dipped his brush in the paint.

"Well I'm almost done, so just give me a minute."

"I'll be counting." Louis sing songed. Harry continued his little painting before retiring his paint brush to his cup of water and turned the canvas around.

"What do you think?" He asked showing him the messy acrylic painting of Louis sitting across from him.

"Wow, that looks really good." He scooted closer, reaching out to grab the canvas. "Of course, everything you do is amazing. You're such an amazing artist." He said admiring the painting.

"You're an amazing muse." Louis looked up from the painting and smiled at him. He placed it off to the side and moved even closer, kissing Harry sweetly.

Harrys eyes fluttered shut and he wrapped his arms around Louis slowly. The kiss was sweet and tender. Harry turned Louis to the side and slowly lowered him down on his back. He leaned over him, kissing him lovingly.

God, how much he missed moments like these.

Their clothes were taken off slowly and tossed to the side precariously until they were completely bare. Their movements were slow and intimate. Their fingers danced across each other's body so softly and so gently, they felt like velvet on each others skin.

Harry didn't bother to use a condom or lube, mainly because he had none ever since the incident. He just spit into his hand and used that to the best of his abilities.

His hands pressed into the newspaper under them and Louis gripped his shoulders tightly, letting out soft little whimpers that were music to Harrys ears.

Ecstasy coursed through their veins and for once in six months they were one again, a whole it seemed. Their bodies moved as one and Harry couldn't of been more happier.

Harry reached his high just as Louis did, euphoria settling in their bodies. Harry collapsed on top of Louis, breathing deeply, and kissed his forehead.

"I love you." He whispered. Louis' face was washed in sunlight filtering in through the window giving him the perfect halo effect. Harry loved how it made him look because in reality he was an angel.

"I love you too." They laid there on the room floor together for an hour before cleaning up and getting dressed again. Harry cleaned up his paint pallet and placed his water glass on the counter so he didn't trip over it.

He walked out to the kitchen, leaving Louis in the art room, and fixed a quick cup of tea. With a little mug in hand, he walked back into the art room where Louis was staring at the wall his silhouette was on pensively.

Harry took a sip of tea then placed his mug on the counter. He stepped up beside Louis who turned to him.

"You know, I can't stay here forever." Harry swallowed thickly.

"Well, I don't see why not," He whispered under his breath.

"Harry," Louis turned to him and Harry just stayed focused on staring at the floor. "It's okay to move on."

"Don't say that," 

"Harry," Louis repeated and touched his arm. "Look at me," He instructed and Harry turned to him reluctantly. "There comes a time when you need to move on. And it's okay, it is."

"But it's hard." He said. "We were supposed to have a life together!" He suddenly burst out angrily. "We were supposed to get married, and have children, and get a house together! We were supposed to live! But that was taken away from me, and you, when you went to get your goddamn haircut. It kills me everyday. If you had just left a few minutes later or earlier or not even gone all together you would actually be here right now!"

"Sweets, just because I'm gone doesn't mean you can't get married, have children, and own a house." Louis replied. 

"But I want to do that stuff with you." Harry said lowering his voice. Louis smiled a little.

"Harry, you can't let this hold you back from living a happy life, or even just being happy in general. I want you to be happy-"

"I'm happy with you."

"And that's good!" Louis exclaimed. "But you need to learn to be happy without me."

"I can't though. I think about you everyday and it tears me apart thinking that if so much as a fraction of time was changed you'd still be here."

"It's nothing you can change though, Haz." Louis said. "What happened, happened and its a part of life-"

"Life isn't dying at 24." Harry whispered somberly.

"Life is learning from the past and using it to make you stronger." Harry laughed apathetically.

"I'm not strong." He muttered. "I'm depressed, I'm pushing away my family, all I do is paint all day. . ."

"You need to give yourself more credit, you're stronger than you think you are." Harry bit the inside of his cheek.

"No, I'm getting weaker everyday and one of these days I'm just going to…break."

"Don't say that." Louis shook his head. "You're strong because I know you are. You've always been strong, even before the accident."

"I'm not though!" Harry shouted. "I, just, I'm falling apart without you." He lowered his tone. 

"You can't fall apart." Louis said. "Because I'm in your heart trying to keep you together, but that's not a one man job so you might need to help me a little bit." He teased lightly.

Harry just took a deep breath and stared at the floor, a warm tear rolling down his cheek.

"It's okay to miss me and it's okay to wish I were still alive." Louis spoke softly. "But it's not okay to let it consume your life and hold you back." He stepped closer and touched his arm gently. "I want you to be happy and I want you to excel." 

"So is that the only reason you're here basically?" Harry asked quietly. "Convince me to get over you?" He added and Louis nodded.

"Sweets," He took his hands then took a deep breath. "I love you so much and you made me happy like no other." He said and more tears rolled down Harrys cheeks. "And it's because I love you that I want you to stop grieving and move on so you can be happy." All Harry could do was nod his head.

"I'm always going to love you, though." He mustered out.

"And I'll always love you." Harry licked his lips. "And one day we'll see each other again." Louis smiled brightly. "We'll be the stars."

"So," Harry choked out. "I'm guessing you're going to have to, like, leave somehow?" Louis nodded. "How?"

"Well, what would you do when you wanted to paint, but didn't have a canvas to paint on?" He asked and Harry looked up at him confused. "Remember? You'd take an old canvas of yours and paint it over with white paint so it was as if it was a brand new canvas?" 

"So I have to paint over your silhouette on the wall for you to, like, disappear?" Harry asked and Louis nodded. He let go of Harrys hands and walked across the room. He picked up a gallon of paint and a roller brush before walking back over to Harry. He placed the bucket down and handed the brush out to Harry. "I can't."

"Yes you can." Louis said grabbing Harrys hand and placing the brush in it. "And because you love me you're going to do it and then you're going to get help with moving on because I hate seeing you so sad." 

Harry looked at him and Louis smiled at him.

"You can ways paint me again if you really wanted." Harry leaned down and dipped the brush in the thick paint. He brought his arm up, but just couldn't will himself to drag it across the wall.

"I can't." He exhaled.

"Yes you can." Louis stood next to him. "I know you can." Harry inhaled slowly and looked down at Louis' hands. With his free hand he grabbed Louis' wrist and lifted up his hand. He painted Louis' hand completely white before pressing it against the wall so his handprint was left behind.

Louis laughed and Harry painted his other hand white before pressing his hand against the space beside Louis'.

"Ready now?" Louis asked gazing up at him sweetly. Harry shook his head and Louis smiled. "I'll help you then." He picked up Harrys hand and drug the brush across the wall over his silhouette. He moved in front of him and moved Harrys hand across the wall.

Harry took a deep breath and started actually moving his hand for himself. He wrapped his other arm around Louis snugly, holding him against him tightly. Louis laughed softly and placed his arm overtop of Harrys, locking their fingers together. 

"See? It's not so hard." He teased as they bent down together to dip the brush in paint again then move back up to paint over the wall.

"Don't patronize me." Louis just smiled and they continued painting over the silhouette, but made sure to steer clear of their handprints they had made off to the side. It was quiet and Harry felt a little content, but also disheartened.

He already lost Louis once, he didn't want to lose him again.

They were both kneeling low to the floor to paint the bottom part before the entire silhouette had been painted over.

They dropped the paintbrush, took a breath, and blinked. And it was in that blink of an eye that Louis was gone.

Harry stumbled back and stared up at the half white half beige wall. His throat felt like it was closing and his eyes watered with tears. His chest was tight and he rubbed his eyes, swallowing thickly. He looked down at his hand covered in white paint then glanced up at the wall quickly.

Printed on the wall was his handprint. And right next to his was Louis' smaller handprint. He took another deep breath and, staring at the handprints, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. He dialed Gemmas number.

"Hello?" 

"I'm ready to move on."

**Author's Note:**

> Well this probaby could've been written better, but you know, I tried and worked hard on it so if you like or not, or thought that it was very disappointing, let me know what you think.  
> Gracias.


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